


Turning Tables

by McRaider



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gil hurts too, Gil needs a hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:29:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McRaider/pseuds/McRaider
Summary: Based off the angst\fluff prompts from prodigalsonheadcannon. Ever since he was eleven, Gil had taken care of Malcolm, been there for him as a father and a friend. Malcolm kept telling himself, he was more than ready to return the favor.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80





	Turning Tables

**Author's Note:**

> I had a tough time deciding who I saw as Jackie, ultimately it came down to whoever played her had to be someone who could pull off motherly while still being strong enough to stand head to head with Gil if needed. I kept coming back to one of my favorite actresses: Shohreh Aghdashloo who you can see here. If Malcolm was eleven when his father was arrested that puts him born in 1987, which means he left for Quantico in 2008 and he’d would’ve needed to be at least 23 to get into the FBI, that’s a requirement, so he’s like 32-33 when the show starts (or they suck at math it’s fine), but in this he’d be about 27-29

Malcolm Bright hadn’t been home in nearly six and a half years, he should know, he was counting. Malcolm had worked hard to get as far away from his past as he possibly could, yet here he was now, on an airplane back to the city that had built him, the city that had broken him. The call had come in three hours ago, an unknown voice of some doctor, asking him if he was Malcolm Bright. 

“ _Is this Malcolm Bright?” the voice, male, with a tremor of exhaustion in it, perhaps even sadness, asked._

_ “It is,” Malcolm replied, he’d just gotten home from a long and arduous case, he was tired but had never been able to sleep during cases, or at all really. The call was from a New York area code, it didn’t take a genius to know something was wrong when it wasn’t one of the four familiar numbers he had programmed into his phone.  _

_ “My name is Dr. Mason, you’re listed as one of the emergency contacts for Jackie Arroyo, I’m sorry to tell you this, but there’s been an accident.”  _

Malcolm had all but mentally blacked out after that, he’d thanked the doctor for informing him of the devastating news, and promptly called into the FBI to use some of the many, many vacation, sick and bereavement days he’d never taken in the last six years. He’d lied as well, telling them it was his mother who had died and not a woman he’d come to love more than his own mother in nearly sixteen years. His actual mother would be furious when she’d learned her only son had come back to the city without visiting her, but then Malcolm didn’t much care either way. 

The drive to the familiar brownstone condo was one he remembered making constantly once he’d gotten his driver’s license. He sat in front of the three-story building for a moment and tried to imagine what it would be like to enter the beautiful, warm home now. Shaking his head, Malcolm exited the vehicle and made his way up the stairs. With a key he’d been given years ago, he easily entered the home. 

It was the middle of winter, and it was nearly as cold inside as it was outside, the normally warm glowing lights were off, the house felt empty. As if it’s very life force had been ripped out of it. Malcolm felt the sting of tears in his eyes when he realized the familiar greeting wasn’t coming. 

_“Malcolm, sweetheart, look at you, you’re growing like a weed! Have you eaten? Come let's find you something to eat,”_ she would insist as she hugged him closer to her side and kissed the top of his head. Even after he’d grown taller than her, it had always been the same. He took a slow, shuddering breath and tried to focus, he knew this would be painful, but if this is how he felt than the man who’d dedicated his entire life to being Jackie’s husband was positively devastated. 

He made his way up the stairs in the front room, unable to stop himself from looking at the pictures that line the wall, this house had always been so much different than the one Malcolm had grown up in. Malcolm smiled when he stopped and saw one of himself hanging there. He was sat between Jackie and Gil, who were both beaming like proud parents, as he held his badge for the first time. His own mother hadn’t come to the Quantico graduation, she hadn’t been excited to hear her son was a profiler. But Jackie and Gil had been beaming the whole time. 

Stepping up to the top floor, where the bedrooms were, Malcolm paused and listened, he knew of course where the master bedroom was, but rather was unsure if that’s where Gil would be. Then he heard it, the sound of small shaky sob, nothing like what Malcolm normally heard from Gil, which usually consisted of barked orders or a kind welcome. 

The bedroom was open, and like the rest of the house he’d just walked through, completely dark, the blackout curtains used to ensure that Gil slept whether it was day or night for his job, made it seem impossibly dark in the room. There on Jackie’s side of the bed, curled around what Malcolm assumed was her pillow, lay the man Malcolm had come to see as a second father. 

It was hard at first to see the outline of the cast that encased Gil’s left arm, he’d been driving when they’d been T-boned. The doctor admitted that Gil had been lucky, his decision to turn, likely to try and protect his wife, was the only thing that kept him from dying as well. Though, Malcolm could easily guess that Gil wished that wasn’t the case. “When did you last eat?” Malcolm asked it was an unusual question coming from him, considering he barely averaged one meal a day himself. 

The figure on the bed seemed to startle slightly at that but didn’t reply. The smell of stale alcohol filtered through the FBI agent’s nose, and he glanced around to see if there was a bottle of pain pills he should be worried about. 

“Go away,” the horse and exhausted voice whispered from where Gil’s face was mostly buried in the pillow. 

Malcolm didn’t take it personally, he knew that under normal circumstances, Gil would be thrilled to see him. His heart broke at the next thought, Jackie would’ve been too. Sighing he moved over to one of the windows and pulled open the curtains. It did little to light the room up since it was just as gray outside, but enough light filtered in that Malcolm got a good look at his...Gil. 

The man in question, who had survived 9/11, who had fought so hard to bring people home. The man who had rescued Malcolm from his father, and then befriended him after, who had filled the whole of father, lay on the bed, in wrinkled dress pants and a torn white button-down. His left arm was encased in a cast, his other under the pillow. Dark hair looked tangled and messy, and a beard had started to replace the usual goatee the man had. In a word, Gil looked old. It was almost as heartbreaking as the idea that Jackie was gone. 

Unadjusted eyes blinked from the light that made a vague attempt to fill the room, and finally, the brown eyes rested on Malcolm. “Why are you here, Malcolm?” he asked, his voice still mumbled as half his face buried in the pillow. 

Malcolm’s eyebrows shot up, “You know why,” he replied as he moved over towards the bed, his nose wrinkled as he realized the alcohol smell was mingling with a man who likely hadn’t showered in two days. “Come on, we need to get you cleaned up.” He moved to touch the man and was a little hurt when Gil flinched away from the touch. 

“Leave me alone,” Gil grumbled. 

Malcolm couldn’t help the slight smirk at the familiar words he’d so frequently said to Gil as a teenager. “No,” Malcolm replied simply as he slowly pulled the pillow from Gil’s arms and helped the man sit up. “Gil,” he whispered as he looked at the man. 

Pain filled Gil’s warm brown eyes, they were red, his face puffy from crying, something Malcolm had never seen before. “She’s gone,” Gil whispered. 

Malcolm crouched down, his hand going to the back of Gil’s neck, something the man had done to him constantly as a child. He pressed their foreheads together gently, “I know, and I’m so sorry,” Malcolm whispered, his own voice cracking over the gut-wrenching truth. “But I’m home, we’ll get through this together. Just, let me take care of you for once, okay?”    
Malcolm requested. 

Gil nodded before he grabbed his boy and pulled him into a tight hug. Malcolm wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and held on tight as he buried his own face in Gil’s shoulder. Neither knew how long they sat there, each silently crying in the other man’s arms. Trying to imagine a world without the woman who had been their anchor for so long. “I’m glad you’re here,” Gil whispered. 

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Malcolm murmured because as painful as it was to be here without Jackie, they still had each other. That was all Malcolm needed to survive, was his Gil, his other dad, his better dad. The one who had taught him how to be a good man. “Okay, seriously though, you smell terrible, let's go.” 

The familiar laughter filled Malcolm’s ears, and he knew for the first time since he’d heard the news, that Gil was going to be okay. Not right away, but eventually. 

  
  



End file.
